


Any other man

by MsNyx



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Coda, Consent, Kissing, M/M, Porn with Feelings, ancel/berenger, consent galore, demisexual Berenger, politics with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-02-29 20:29:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18785632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsNyx/pseuds/MsNyx
Summary: Picks straight up where "Pet" left off, but things don't go exactly as Ancel expects.





	Any other man

“But what if he wins?”

The answer to that question was immaterial. The question itself was simply a gambit, a move intended to distract Berenger from his catastrophic decision, shake his certainty in the rightness of his chosen course.

_Don’t give me up._

_You want me, too._

Ancel’s fingers, tangled in the laces of Berenger’s jacket, were shaking. He wanted to feel Berenger’s heartbeat, but there were too many layers of fabric. He needed to feel Berenger’s heartbeat. He had his words, his precious words, and the honesty in his eyes. But Berenger was the first man who had ever made Ancel’s own heart race, and he _needed_ to know it was happening to Berenger, too.

“Ancel.” Berenger’s hand closed over his, preventing his fingers from finding their way inside that infernal brown jacket.

“I just want to feel your heart,” Ancel blurted out.

Berenger went very still. His grip on Ancel slackened. Ancel took the opportunity and yanked Berenger’s jacket open, tearing the laces loose. Berenger stood immobile, only rocking back slightly, as Ancel dragged his shirt from his breeches. But, when Ancel slid his hands up inside the soft linen, Berenger let out ragged breath. That sound meant something. Ancel tucked the fact of it away for safekeeping and followed the furrows of his ribs, found the dip over his sternum and spread his hand over Berenger’s pectoral muscle. Now he could feel the hectic pulse that echoed his own. He bowed his head forward and laid his ear on Berenger’s chest, listening to the truth of it.

“Ancel.” Berenger sounded like a man who was trying to be firm and found himself surprised by his own weakness. A moment later Ancel felt the lightest of touches on the back of his head. Berenger’s fingers moved, tentatively stroking at the fall of his red hair.

“Kiss me?” Ancel whispered.

That hot, sharp feeling was back in his chest. He didn’t know what he’d do if Berenger refused. He feared he might break.

“Is that what you want?” Berenger asked.

Ancel nodded.

Berenger bent his head. Ancel, his ear pressed to Berenger’s chest, did not move. He felt Berenger’s breath, then his lips, brush over the top of his head. He was almost sure Berenger’s heart was beating faster still.

Berenger’s mouth found the topmost curve of his ear. Something inside Ancel fluttered. Berenger’s fingers tightened their hold on Ancel’s head, curving around his skull, lifting him away from the precious thunder of Berenger’s heart. Ancel closed his eyes. He couldn’t bear to look. Berenger’s thumb brushed gently over Ancel’s lips and a finger traced the curve of an eyelid. It paused, momentarily, when the movement smeared a trace of salt water over the sensitive skin below Ancel’s eye.

“Ancel.” It was barely even a whisper. Just a breath of sound.

Berenger tilted Ancel’s face and brushed his hair back from his neck. Ancel waited in his self-imposed darkness for Berenger to bring their lips together. Waited, a little lost, anchored to the world only by Berenger’s hand cupping his jaw.

The kiss, when it came, didn’t land on his mouth. There was the merest moment of warm breath on his throat to warn him, then Berenger’s mouth pressed into the crook of his neck, just over his collarbone. Ancel’s breath rushed out of his lungs as the sensation sang across his skin, his body’s response out of all proportion to the simple caress.

“Ancel?” There was concern and a note of wonder in Berenger’s voice now.

“My . . . lord . . .” Ancel struggled to form words. At some point, Berenger had wrapped his other arm around Ancel’s waist and Ancel thought it might be the only thing keeping him on his feet.

“Do you like that?” Berenger sounded surprised. Pleased and surprised.

“Uh.” Ancel tried to nod.

“Do you want me to do that again?” Berenger asked.

“Yes,” whispered Ancel.

“Really?” Berenger’s grip tightened. Ancel slid his own hands over Berenger’s chest, under his shirt and around his back, pulling him close.

“Yes,” he said more decisively. He opened his eyelids a tiny sliver, looking up at Berenger. The delighted expression on Berenger’s face faded a fraction. A furrow appeared between his brows.

“I don’t want you to pretend, Ancel,” he said. “I won’t— Not if you don’t want me. I can’t—”

Ancel opened his eyes properly and looked up at Berenger.

“Please kiss my neck.” He wasn’t sure how he’d meant that to sound, but the note of desperation that crept into his voice both surprised him and seemed to reassure Berenger. He closed his eyes again as Berenger bent his head once more to Ancel’s throat. If it was any other man, Ancel would have been manufacturing voluptuous sighs. But it was Berenger, and the sounds escaping Ancel’s lips were as involuntary as they were inelegant.

He was so lost to the sensation of Berenger’s lips and teeth and tongue making claim to the territory of his neck that by the time he became aware of the other man’s arousal, a bar of pressure against his hip, he realized it had been like that for some time. And, for the first time in his life, Ancel didn’t know what to do with it. If it were any other man . . . but it was Berenger, and last time Ancel had tried to touch him when he’d been like this, he’d spent half an hour kicking his heels in a secluded corner of a garden in the dark, wallowing in the misery of unequivocal rejection while staring at Berenger’s implacable silhouette stationed resolutely four feet away.

_You want me._

_You are not going to give me up._

“My lord,” Ancel tried raggedly. “Won’t you let me—” He let his hands wander down Berenger’s back towards his waist.

“No.”

Ancel couldn’t help the way his whole body froze at that obdurate syllable. What more forceful reminder that he was really just a whore, and Berenger had no use for his sordid whore’s services? And, of course, the moment he went still, so did Berenger. Ancel was certain that if Berenger hadn’t been aware that Ancel was almost entirely relying on him for support at that moment, he would have released him and stepped back. Ancel clung to him.

“I want to give you pleasure, my lord,” he said into Berenger’s shoulder, but even that couldn’t hide the broken sound of his voice.

Inexplicably, joyously, Berenger’s arms tightened around him.

“I won’t take pleasure from something you hate doing,” said Berenger fiercely into Ancel’s hair. “I can’t.”

Ancel found his feet and wriggled to free himself – just a fraction – from Berenger’s embrace. He kept his hands on Berenger’s skin.

“I wouldn’t hate it with you,” he said, looking up at Berenger.

Berenger gave a dry laugh. His expression was rueful and just a little despairing.

“You are so good at faking it,” he said ruefully.

“No,” said Ancel, suddenly angry. “I’m not. Not that good.”

He let that sink in. Watched Berenger’s frown deepen, then clear. Returned his gaze as Berenger stared down at him, a new question in his eyes.

“You weren’t pretending, then,” he said slowly. “When you kissed me.”

Ancel had to look away. He wasn’t actually sure what the truth was now. He hadn’t meant to mean it. But, then Berenger—

“You did not enjoy the Akielon.”

Ancel shrugged irritably. “That was a performance. That kind of thing is part of my job. I am _good_ at my job.”

“And this?” asked Berenger. He turned Ancel’s face back to his. “Isn’t this part of your job?”

That hot, sharp feeling surged up again to tighten Ancel’s throat. He felt his eyes prick.

“You have made it very clear, my lord, that it is not,” he said stiffly.

Here they were, back at this immovable impasse. All he had to offer Berenger was himself. But he was a whore. And Berenger did not suffer whores. He almost expected Berenger to let go of him and turn away. Instead, Berenger pulled him close again, sliding a hand into Ancel’s hair. Ancel wanted to resist, to hold himself aloof. But this was Berenger.

_You want me._

_Oh._

He melted.

“It’s not,” said Berenger. “You don’t have to endure this.”

“I am not,” whispered Ancel.

Berenger bowed his head and buried his face in Ancel’s hair again.

“I cannot take pleasure from something you don’t want,” he said again. “I just can’t. Don’t ask me to. _I_ couldn’t endure it.”

Ancel leaned against him, absorbing this. He began to let his fingers wander over Berenger’s back, feeling the heat of him, the muscles beneath the skin, the ridges of his ribs.

“I have never had anything in life, other than what I could get for offering other men the use of my body,” he said eventually. He felt Berenger pull away a little and tugged him back. His hands traced the path of Berenger’s spine. “That is my worth in the world.”

Berenger made a sound, but Ancel shook his head.

“It’s the truth. And I’m _here,_ ” he said fiercely, “in the royal palace of Arles, in the arms of Lord Berenger. Tonight I dined with the Regent. I sat on his lap. Perhaps I haven’t enjoyed everything I’ve done to get here, but _I did get here_ and I _like_ it here _._ You would be appalled if I told you where I started.” He let his hands drift lower. “Even you don’t enjoy everything about your job,” He tried to make the accusation gentle. “But you do it because of where you want to get to.”

Berenger was holding himself very still.

“What do you mean?”

Ancel laughed. “I’ve sat in the room with you while you’ve poured over ledgers at midnight when you’d rather be asleep,” he said. “I’ve ridden out with you the next day to see to some –” He couldn’t help the curl of his lip. “ _Agricultural_ issue, when you’re already exhausted from the day before. And don’t try to pretend you enjoy your time in the great hall here, every night. Do you enjoy watching the pets fuck?”

“No.” Berenger’s arms dropped away. Ancel felt momentarily bereft. But he had a point to make, so he shrugged and stepped away from Berenger, moving towards a couch piled with silken cushions. He threw himself down.

“I don’t always enjoy the things I have to do, but I enjoy being good at my job.” He looked Berenger in the eye. Berenger was watching him warily. “I like where it’s got me. And I liked it when being good at my job helped you. Don’t take that away from me, my lord.”

Berenger’s eyes widened slightly.

“I’m not . . . disparaging your skills,” he said. “You’ve been immensely useful.”

Ancel shifted, draping himself provocatively over the arm of the couch, letting the folds of silk he wore fall away from one thigh.

“Good.”

“But I don’t want you using them on me.”

Ancel’s mouth fell open.

“Then what else am I to do?” he exploded in frustration.

“What do you mean?”

Ancel sat up straight and drew his legs up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. He probably looked like a petulant child. _What does it matter how I look if he won’t DO anything about this thing between us?_

“If I want to kiss you, how else am I supposed to do it?” Ancel snapped. “Shall I just lie there with my mouth open like a caught fish, because if I try and make it good, you’ll think I don’t mean it?”

“Ancel—” Berenger took a step towards him.

“And I’m not allowed to take pleasure from giving you pleasure, because when I’ve done it before for someone else it’s been one of the less enjoyable parts of my _job_? My job I’m _good_ at? If I want to put you in the throes of ecstasy, am I supposed invent a new way of sucking your cock?”

Berenger’s cheeks, already faintly warm, flushed darker. He was breathing unevenly.

_It works on me._

“You never wanted me to touch you before.”

“I do now!” Ancel winced as the words left his mouth. He sounded pathetic. He’d pretended to beg countless times before. That had been all simpers and sly posturing and calculated flashes of illicit flesh. This was . . . humiliating.

Berenger was still standing six feet away, his jacket undone, his shirt untucked, clenching and unclenching his fists. He was the very image of a man in the throes of being debauched and, Ancel realized, he wasn’t going to give way. The one time, _the one time,_ he’d actually wanted someone, and Berenger wasn’t going to believe he wanted him. He was going to hold himself back because he didn’t believe Ancel was capable of feeling pleasure. He dropped his head onto his arms and scrunched his eyes closed, but he couldn’t stop the hot tears burning their way out from under his lids. Neither could he swallow the sound that came lurching and scraping out of his throat.

This man, this one man. The only one Ancel had ever wanted to touch him.

When the seat of the couch beside him gave under the weight of another body, Ancel was surprised enough to raise his head, even though he knew he’d look ridiculous with his eyes all red amidst their ruined paint. He was more surprised when Berenger wrapped his arms around Ancel’s slender shoulders and pulled him close.

“I’m sorry,” he said, speaking into Ancel’s hair. “I’m sorry.”

Ancel remained curled tightly into himself for all of a minute. But there was something about the way Berenger held him, offering comfort and not expecting anything in return, that began to erode his defenses. At first it was just nice. Warmth and contact and the rhythm of Berenger’s chest rising and falling under his cheek when he buried his face in Berenger’s chest. Then it was more than nice and he wanted more still and he found himself doing all the things he knew how to do, and that Berenger would probably hate, but he didn’t know what else there was and anyway, just because he’d done it all before and hadn’t meant it didn’t mean this time wasn’t _true._

_It works on me._

He rubbed his cheek against the folds of linen shirt where Berenger’s jacket gaped open.

He let a fold of silk slide off his shoulder.

He stretched his neck, baring the place where Berenger had dropped so many delicious kisses.

“Ancel,” said Berenger. His voice was hoarse.

Ancel twisted in Berenger’s lap, then opened his eyes, looking up at him.

“Please just kiss me.”

Berenger groaned and bent over him, sealing his lips over Ancel’s. Despite everything, it was still a surprise. Ancel arched his back and grabbed at Berenger, pulling him close, terribly afraid he’d pull away. But Berenger had Ancel’s face in his hands, his fingers digging into Ancel’s jaw, and his tongue in Ancel’s mouth.

There was a moment – the merest moment, but still disconcerting for all that – where it could have been anyone _but_ Berenger, then Berenger made a small sound, almost of defeat, and Ancel’s entire body thrilled with a sudden and unexpected warmth. He slid his hands into Berenger’s hair and met his tongue with his own.

They kissed for a long time. They rearranged themselves on the couch several times. At one point Ancel was kneeling astride Berenger’s lap, then later he was lying beneath him, mouths, chests, groins crushed together, hands and feet tangling. Berenger lost his jacket entirely. Then his boots. Ancel’s neck was lavished with further attention, which spilled over onto his collarbones and shoulders. In turn, Ancel discovered that Berenger’s ears were a particular point of dissolution for his master when teeth and tongue were judiciously applied.

Ancel had never been so utterly, thoroughly, comprehensively turned on. He was almost feverish with it. When he finally found himself lying on top of Berenger, he decided it was up to him to move things along. He pulled away from Berenger and took hold of his shirt, dragging it up over his chest and baring his torso. It was a nice torso and Ancel had no objections whatsoever to moving his attentions from Berenger’s mouth to Berenger’s throat, shoulders, chest . . . When he started on Berenger’s nipples, he could feel all the muscles of Berenger’s abdomen tense up, almost as hard as the ridge of his cock.

“Ancel,” panted Berenger.

“Do you like it?” asked Ancel, nibbling on one hard, brown nub.

“You don’t have to—” gasped Berenger.

Ancel answered him by rubbing his own rock-hard cock against Berenger’s thigh.

He worked his way down Berenger’s lean, sparsely-haired torso until he came to his navel. He spent quite a bit of time exploring that sensitive indent with his tongue, enjoying the way Berenger squirmed and jerked and panted and failed to notice Ancel unlacing his breeches.

When Ancel opened Berenger’s breeches to let his cock spring out, though, Berenger jerked upright. His crumpled shirt slid back down his torso. His hair was a mess.

“Ancel, please!” he said urgently. He sounded close to panic.

Ancel sat up, his hand still around Berenger’s cock.

“Don’t you like it?” he asked.

“Do you?” Berenger croaked.

“Seeing you like this?” asked Ancel. “Completely abandoned? Oh, yes.” He tilted his head and let the ends of his hair brush over Berenger’s belly, watching him from under half-closed lids.

“Don’t play games with me,” begged Berenger. He really was begging, too.

Ancel blinked at him and slowly tightened his hand. Berenger moaned.

“I mean it,” he rasped. He reached out and closed his hand over Ancel’s wrist. Reluctantly Ancel let go. Berenger groaned and flopped back on the couch. Ancel moved to straddle him, settling himself on Berenger’s thighs where his cock nudged Berenger’s – which appendage, Ancel was pleased to note, did not seem to share any of its owner’s hesitation. Berenger’s chest was heaving. There was only a wisp of the very thin silk Ancel wore between them. He moved his hips, letting the base of his cock rub against the base of Berenger’s.

“Stop it,” groaned Berenger, but he reached out to grip Ancel’s hips. Ancel gave another experimental squirm. Berenger’s fingers dug into his flesh, but he didn’t try to stop him moving. In fact, it felt as though he was holding him in place. Ancel allowed himself a small smile.

“What gives _you_ pleasure, Ancel?” Berenger asked. His voice was low and ragged.

“Making powerful men want me,” Ancel said.

Berenger let out a breath of laughter.

“What else?”

Ancel shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable.

“Nice clothes, nice food. Emeralds. I’m quite shallow,” he said, irritated with himself for the admission.

Berenger looked up at him, serious again.

“You’re honest.”

He stretched one hand up to touch Ancel’s cheek. Ancel couldn’t help but lean into his palm and close his eyes as Berenger’s fingers slid into his hair.

“And what gives you pleasure?” he asked.

“Honesty,” Berenger said. “Trust.”

Ancel’s chest tightened.

He bent forward, putting his hands on Berenger’s biceps, moving over him. His hair fell down around them, creating a dark, red-tinted intimacy between them.

“I’m not honest,” he said. “I lie all the time.”

“I think you tell the truth more than you know,” said Berenger.

“You want to think that.” _Like you wanted to think I liked poetry. And horses._

“Tell me something true.”

“This gives me pleasure.” He leaned down and kissed Berenger.

“Something else,” said Berenger.

“I want to fuck you.”

Everything went very still. The only thing that moved was Berenger’s eyes, raking Ancel’s face, looking for the lie. Ancel held his breath.

“Why?”

“I just do!” Ancel pulled back in exasperation. “Why do you have to think about everything so much?”

Berenger sat up so quickly Ancel nearly fell off the couch. But Berenger grabbed him and started kissing him with unexpected ferocity. Ancel was reduced to clinging onto his shoulders and making helpless noises. Berenger dragged them both up off the couch and began manhandling Ancel towards the bed chamber. Ancel wound as much of himself around Berenger as he could, his whole body thrilling with an unfamiliar heat. But—

“No, your bed,” gasped Berenger, as Ancel made an incorrect assumption about the direction they were heading. Ancel’s face must have shown his question, because Berenger’s checks flamed. “I don’t have . . . Anything. I didn’t think I’d ever . . . We’d ever . . .”

Ancel was shocked into stillness.

“Ever?”

“I didn’t think . . .” Berenger said again, helplessly.

Ancel was starting to realize that the wide-eyed, plain-shirted ingénue in the bed was not going to be him.

“Are you a virgin?” he blurted out.

“No!”

There was a pause several heartbeats long. Berenger looked away. Ancel didn’t know what to say. He felt as though he was having to rearrange all the furniture of his brain. And the hot, huge feeling in his chest was growing. His limbs were trembling with the enormity of the responsibility he was assuming.

“I’ll look after you,” he found himself saying. “Let me look after you.” He put his hands on either side of Berenger’s face. “You’ve always looked after me.”

“Sometimes you make it hard,” said Berenger.

Ancel sniffed. “So do you,” he said sourly. “One day, I’m just going to burn all your stupid brown jackets.”

Berenger’s smile looked a little wobbly, but it was a smile.

“Come here,” said Ancel softly, lacing his fingers through Berenger’s. He pulled him towards his bed. Berenger moved slowly, almost reluctantly, but Ancel kept up the pressure of his grip and Berenger kept moving. When they reached the bed, Ancel pushed Berenger down to sit on the edge. Then he bent over him and took hold of his face again, dropping kisses over every inch of skin. When Berenger reached up and took hold of the back of his neck, drawing him into one of those deep, incredible kisses, Ancel let him take control for a minute. His whole body felt hot and tight. Then he gently pushed Berenger back. He kept kissing him as urgently as ever, crawling over him and letting his hair fall down around them again.

“Keep your eyes closed,” said Ancel. “Let me do—”

“This is not your job—!”

Ancel shut him up with a kiss.

“Let me do this for you. I’ll be miserable if you don’t.”

Berenger took a deep, shaky breath. Ancel pushed his shirt up over his chest again and began to kiss his way down Berenger’s torso. Berenger made an anxious sound.

“I’ll probably throw myself over the balcony if you refuse me,” Ancel continued mercilessly as he dragged Berenger’s breeches down. Berenger reached out to grip Ancel’s upper arm, but he didn’t stop him. “Or perhaps I’ll put myself in the ring with the Akielon. He’ll probably kill me.”

“Ancel!” His name came out as a gasp. Ancel threw Berenger’s breeches across the room. He tugged Berenger further onto the bed and settled between his legs. Berenger looked apprehensive and aroused all at once. Ancel dipped his head, but he didn’t touch Berenger’s cock. Instead he laid down a line of kisses along the inside of one thigh. Berenger groaned and let his head fall back on the bed. Ancel pushed his legs further apart and navigated a matching trail on Berenger’s other thigh. He explored the crease at the join between Berenger’s thigh and groin with his tongue, and relished the feel of Berenger arching and flexing beneath him. He was surprised to find how much he was enjoying the experience. It somehow combined all the heady rush of seducing the most powerful man in the room with something else that was simultaneously fragile as spun glass and earthily satisfying. He went back to branding Berenger’s thigh with a string of love-bites, listening to the pleasingly uneven hitch and rasp of his master’s breath. When he dared to brush the underside of Berenger’s stones with the tips of his fingers, Berenger moaned. He sounded delirious.

_Good._

He spent a few more minutes nuzzling Berenger’s thighs while tracing feather-light whorls across the taut pouch of his stones, before leaning in to apply the tip of his tongue where his fingers had been playing. Berenger gave a low cry, pulling his knees further back. Ancel was enchanted. Berenger was utterly lost to sensation. It was almost like he’d forgotten Ancel was there, except Ancel was the one drawing these gasps and breathy moans out of him. And Ancel hadn’t even touched his cock. It made Ancel feel powerful, seeing his master so utterly undone. He’d never felt like this with anyone, not even another pet. Always his every action had felt like a performance. This was more like an act of . . . worship.

He began to tongue Berenger’s stones in earnest. Berenger twitched and jerked, as though he was trying to hold himself in check, but was unable to remain still. It was nowhere near so intrusive as having another man’s cock in his mouth. Ancel had more space to himself. He explored the base of Berenger’s cock, but did not go further up the shaft, eliciting some moans that sounded satisfactorily close to frustration given Berenger’s previous reluctance to let Ancel suck him off.

_Try and resist me now!_

He followed the seam down the centre of Berenger’s pouch to the taut flesh behind. As Ancel teased his way further back, Berenger began to lift his backside off the bed, twitching as though he wanted to thrust himself against Ancel’s mouth. It was the sound he made when Ancel’s tongue gently and infinitesimally breached the tight seal of his entrance that made Ancel realize what he was going to do. He withdrew and lifted himself up.

Berenger raised his head. His face was flushed, his eyes dilated. His chest was heaving. His shirt was rucked up around his armpits, leaving him almost entirely naked. Ancel, on the other hand, was still wearing everything he’d had on when he followed Berenger into their rooms. Well, that would have to change.

He unclasped the jeweled belt at his waist and dropped it to one side. He let Berenger wait and watch him shrug out of the silk robe, letting the fabric slip slowly over his skin. Berenger wasn’t protesting any more. Just watching. Helpless and hungry. Ancel gathered up his hair and draped it over one shoulder, then settled his hands lightly on Berenger’s hips. He paused for a moment, then reached over to the table beside the bed, selecting a bottle of scented oil from the tray resting on top. The bottle, Ancel noted with a flicker of irritation, had a film of dust on the stopper. He moved back to settle between Berenger’s legs.

As unselfconsciously as he could, he poured a thin stream of oil into the palm of one hand. Berenger was watching him avidly, that anxious crease back again between his brows. Ancel leaned back over Berenger’s body, which now seemed tense in an entirely different way.

“Stop me if you don’t like it,” Ancel said. Berenger gave him one curt nod.

Ancel dabbled his fingers in the small puddle of oil, then reached down, sliding them behind Berenger’s stones and into the cleft of his arse. Berenger’s eyes widened and he drew a quick, sharp, breath. Ancel made his way slowly, working across the territory he’d already claimed with his tongue, watching Berenger react. Berenger dropped his head back and took deep breaths, but he didn’t call a halt to what Ancel was doing.

“I am going to make you come so hard,” whispered Ancel to him as he touched the tightly whorled muscle with his fingertip. Berenger made a despairing sound. Ancel pulled his hand back and dipped his fingers in the oil again. This time when he touched Berenger, he slid one fingertip inside. Berenger breathed out, hard. Ancel went slowly, enjoying the sounds he was drawing out of the other man. Berenger’s cock was still rock hard.

Ancel worked himself further inside Berenger, then withdrew and applied more oil. When his first finger was moving easily in and out and Berenger’s breath was coming in time with the movements of his hand, he pushed another finger inside. Berenger gasped. He was clutching at the bedclothes. Ancel bent over to tease Berenger’s stones with his tongue once again and began oiling his own cock. He did not think Berenger needed to see that. It was too obvious an action; too much a statement of intent. He pushed aside his own memories of men standing over him, aggressively smearing oil over themselves and promising him he wouldn’t walk for a week.

_Let me look after you._

He moved carefully, watching Berenger to make sure all he felt was pleasure. He found, with his two fingers, the place that made Berenger jerk and cry out, working him until he began to forget himself once more. Then he sat up, gently withdrew his hand, and leaned over him. If it was any other man, this would not be a time to pause, to speak.

“Are you ready?” he asked. Berenger gave him an agonized look and nodded frantically.

Ancel leaned forward to let the silk of his hair sweep over Berenger’s chest. Berenger sighed uneasily.

“Are you all right?”

Berenger nodded again and reached out to touch Ancel’s chest, tentatively circling one of Ancel’s painted nipples. Ancel exhaled, surprised at how good that felt. He closed the distance between them and kissed Berenger. Berenger kissed him hungrily back. As they kissed, Ancel reached down and positioned himself, then pushed gently. Berenger made a shocked noise into his mouth. Ancel inched forwards, one tiny surge at a time, until they were locked together, pelvis to pelvis. Berenger’s arms wrapped around him, finding his arse, pulling him closer still.

“Ancel,” croaked Berenger.

Ancel rested his forehead on Berenger’s.

“My lord,” he whispered. He began to move. Just gently, but enough to make Berenger’s breath hitch.

“Oh,” said Berenger. “Oh.”

Ancel reached down to find Berenger’s cock and slid his oiled palm around it.

“Oh,” groaned Berenger.

It felt so good. There was all the heat and tight clasp of flesh he had experienced with Lord Rouert’s pet, but seeing Berenger below him caused an entirely new sensation that filled him up, beating against the walls of his chest and closing his throat.

“Ancel,” said Berenger. “Ancel.”

His eyes were so wide and dark they hurt to look at. Ancel started moving more decisively.

“I’ve never done this before,” Berenger choked out.

Ancel kissed him.

“I’ve only done it once,” he said, letting his lips move against Berenger’s as he spoke. “You saw me. You bought me.”

“You’re very good.” It was almost like Berenger was trying to make pleasant conversation, except for the way he choked out the words and moaned at the end. Ancel laughed and kissed him again.

“I am. I’m the best pet. Aren’t you glad I’m yours?”

“Not . . . my pet tonight,” rasped Berenger. “Not part of your job.”

“Hush.” Ancel kissed him again, then bent all his efforts on trying to stop Berenger from thinking about what was and wasn’t part of his contract. He moved over him and in him, trying to focus on what his left hand was doing and trying not to lose himself in the building ecstasy. His own crisis was approaching, a palpable thing, and he was terrified it would arrive before he was ready. He wasn’t used to this . . . sense of euphoria. That was utterly new.

“Berenger,” he said, unable to keep the panic from his voice.

Berenger threw back his head and cried out. His fingers dug into Ancel’s flanks and he dragged him close. Ancel was in him to the hilt, barely able to move. But when Berenger came, he felt it. Berenger arched his back, lifting them both off the bed, and Ancel tumbled off his own personal precipice, spending uncontrollably into Berenger’s body.

The moment of their joined release seemed stretch out forever, gloriously suspended, the pair of them clinging to each other. Then the grip of orgasm began to recede and Ancel found he was trembling from head to foot. He withdrew as carefully as he could, then slowly collapsed on the bedclothes beside Berenger.

“Uh,” he said.

The only sound from Berenger was the sound of his breath rushing in and out of his lungs. They lay there together, not speaking. At first it was nice, feeling Berenger stretched out beside him. He’d never felt like lingering after the act with any of his other patrons. But Berenger was silent for so long, Ancel began to worry. Eventually he levered himself up onto an elbow. Berenger had one arm flung over his face. The mess of his seed was still splattered over his belly.

“Are you all right?” Ancel asked anxiously.

“I,” said Berenger and fell silent again. After a moment he said “I didn’t know it could be like that.”

Ancel almost gave him an arch response. Something sarcastic about Berenger’s confidence in his abilities was on the tip of his tongue. But he didn’t say it. Berenger’s voice was too soft and awed for sarcasm. Ancel dragged a sweaty tendril of hair from his face, then nudged his head into the hollow under Berenger’s armpit and burrowed against his chest. He felt slightly anxious, as though something new existed that hadn’t before – something vague and volatile – and that, for some reason, if he wasn’t touching Berenger, this nascent thing might evaporate entirely. The words he did say came out in a rush, muttered into the bedclothes and lost in the dark space beneath Berenger’s ribs.

“I beg your pardon?”

Ancel lifted his head, his cheeks hot.

“Neither did I,” he repeated.

Berenger moved his arm, wrapping it around Ancel’s neck, pulling him close. But he didn’t kiss him, just buried his face in his hair.

“I’m a mess,” he said.

Reluctantly Ancel pulled himself loose and sat up. He looked Berenger over and wrinkled his nose.

“I’ll take care of that,” he said.

A look of alarm crossed Berenger’s face.

“Not like that,” said Ancel. He dragged himself off the bed and fished some soft cloths from a basket under the bedside table, then went across to the nightstand where a jug of water waited. When he glanced back at the bed, Berenger was watching him. Not just watching him. Watching him the way Ancel wanted to be watched. It was automatic: Ancel couldn’t disobey his instinct to preen under such a warm gaze. When he raised his eyes to Berenger again, from beneath lowered lids and a fall of red hair, Berenger looked amused.

“You can’t help yourself, can you?” he asked.

Ancel tossed his hair coquettishly over his shoulder.

“I am _very_ good at my job.”

“You are that.”

Ancel swayed back over to the bed and settled gracefully beside Berenger.

“I can do that,” said Berenger, reaching for the cloth.

“I _said_ I’d look after you,” said Ancel, deftly evading him. Berenger put his hands meekly behind his head and let Ancel clean him up. It was its own reward, really. Berenger shivered deliciously at the cool touch of the wet cloth, and his nipples peaked up again enticingly. Ancel worked his way lower with languid strokes, not missing the way Berenger’s cock twitched as though emerging from slumber. By the time he’d finished, Berenger was more than half hard again.

“What am I going to do with you?” Berenger asked when Ancel tossed the cloth on the side table and stretched out beside him again, pressing himself up against the length of Berenger’s body.

“Don’t give me up,” said Ancel, putting his hand in the centre of Berenger’s chest.

“No,” said Berenger. “I can’t do that.”

“I told the Regent you were boring and serious,” mused Ancel.

“I am boring and serious.”

“Mmm-hm.” Ancel ran his hand down Berenger’s torso. Berenger caught it as it brushed over his navel and twined his fingers through Ancel’s.

“He offered me a contract with anyone I liked.”

“I see.”

“I have a _lot_ of flirting to do,” said Ancel. “People will let all sorts of things slip if you distract them with sex. Who should I start with?”

Berenger narrowed his eyes.

Ancel lifted his head and propped his chin on Berenger’s upper arm.

“I want you to stay rich,” he said. “I like you being rich. I’m going to help you. We’ll make sure he wins.”


End file.
